


First Time's the Rescue

by OnceABlueMoon



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Protective Siblings, Remix, Rescue, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceABlueMoon/pseuds/OnceABlueMoon
Summary: There are only three things Giotto really, truly tries to do in life.1. Make sure his brother knows he loves him. Protecting him to the utmost is part of that.2. Go to church each Sunday because he made a promise to his mother before she died.3. Get that motherfucking Bermuda outta town because he is a BAD INFLUENCE ON HIS LITTLE BROTHER.All of these are very normal and reasonable life goals. That is, until number 3 actually happens by the hand of someone who is NOT Giotto and Ricardo's world falls apart. Shit.Or: the story of Giotto and Cozart's super-secret rescue mission of Bermuda that neither Ricardo nor Bermuda are ever to find out about.
Relationships: Giotto | Vongola Primo & Ricardo | Vongola Secondo, Giotto | Vongola Primo/Cozarto Simon | Simon Primo, Ricardo | Vongola Secondo/Bermuda von Veckenschtein
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: 2019 KHR Winter Remix Fest Round 2: Remixes





	First Time's the Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kosaji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosaji/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Second Times the Charm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353950) by [Kosaji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosaji/pseuds/Kosaji). 



There are only three things Giotto really, truly tries to do in life.

  1. Make sure his brother knows he loves him. Protecting him to the utmost is part of that.
  2. Go to church each Sunday because he made a promise to his mother before she died.
  3. Get that motherfucking Bermuda outta town because he is a BAD INFLUENCE ON HIS LITTLE BROTHER.



All of these are very normal and reasonable life goals. That is, until number 3 actually happens by the hand of someone who is NOT Giotto and Ricardo's world falls apart. Shit.

* * *

The truth is, Giotto has known about Checkerface for far longer than Ricardo knows. He wants to keep it that way- after all, his precious brother better be kept out of it. 

He and Ricardo might be cousins by blood, but they grew up as brothers, and by God, Giotto will make sure he’ll never lack anything. 

Standing here, at the auction, seeing his efforts from four years ago come to fruition, he can’t help but feel vindicated. Cozart throws an arm over his shoulder. Giotto leans into it with a satisfied sigh. 

He doesn’t much like Bermuda, but Ricardo’s face at seeing the man again was totally worth it all. 

‘’Having fun?’’ Cozart breathes, his lips against Giotto’s ear. A warm shiver works its way down his spine. 

‘’How could I not, when I’m with you?’’ 

After all, if it were not for rescuing Bermuda, Giotto probably wouldn’t have Cozart this close to him. 

* * *

The first time Giotto notices something is wrong, it’s a Saturday afternoon. He’s humming while stirring the curry in his pan. He likes cooking, but vigilantism besides managing a company _and_ making fellow rich bastards cough up their wallets for charity… Giotto’s run himself more ragged on the streets when he was young, but even now in the life of the nouveau rich he didn’t grant himself much peace. 

Ricardo’s partially lying on the table, head resting on his arms, face down. It’s his typical ‘’Leave-me-alone-I’m-still-asleep’’ pose, but for once, he doesn’t seem hungover. Giotto frowns. ‘’You didn’t go out with Bermuda last night?’’

Friday’s their usual haunt- or well. Giotto would call it a _date night_ if Bermuda was not a terrible influence on Ricardo and should as such not be awarded the title of ‘’date-mate’’. Not that Giotto had much to say about that, much to his chagrin. 

Ricardo turns his face to the side, angrily staring up at Giotto over his arms. ‘’ _Bermuda_ hasn’t been answering my texts for the last week.’’ 

Giotto’s hand tightens around the ladle. _Nobody_ ignores his brother’s texts. Especially not his so-called boyfriend. 

He’s getting to the bottom of this. 

* * *

Luckily, Cozart’s only a call away. 

‘’So,’’ Giotto says as he looks both ways before crossing the road, pressing the phone against his ear, ‘’Wanna beat up my little brother’s boy toy with me?’’ 

Cozart groans, the low sound vibrating against Giotto’s skin. ‘’Giotto, it’s ten am. You kept me up until four last night. Can’t you let a man sleep.’’ 

Giotto flushes a little as he swerves around a woman with a baby carriage. God, leave it to Cozart to phrase things like that. ‘’ _You_ wanted to be the guy in the chair after you were tired of being a vigilante. I can’t help it that crime happens at inopportune moments. You can’t exactly plan being a superhero.’’ 

‘’God only knows how your secretary hasn’t strangled you yet for all your random disappearances.’’ Cozart laughs. 

Giotto shakes his head. ‘’Who says he hasn’t? I’m pretty sure G tries to put poison in my coffee every morning just so I’m too weak to get away, and then chickens out at the last moment because he pities me.’’ 

‘’Because you’re _such_ a pitiful existence, mister millionaire.’’ 

Giotto shrugs unconsciously. ‘’I think it’s more because he’s been here all this time. I mean, I’ve known him longer than even you. He’s been there for me since we were in the crib and I have a feeling he thinks I can’t really take the pressure of being in the public eye as much as I pretend to.’’ 

The silence on the other end of the line lasts a little too long. 

‘’ _What?_ ’’ Giotto tries to snap but it comes out too soft. It sounds vulnerable. He doesn’t really like it, but he’s never had defences against Cozart. The only good thing about that whole predicament is that Cozart’s never used it against him. 

Giotto wonders if there’s a day when Cozart’s goodwill towards him will run out. He hopes it never does, because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself then. 

Cozart sighs. ‘’I think you’re in over your head and that you should talk about your issues. Professionally, preferably. You’ve been bringing up the past a lot lately, Gio.’’

Giotto closes his eyes for a second and pinches his nose. Breathes in, breathes out. ‘’So. Wanna beat up my little brother’s boy toy with me?’’ 

‘’Fine,’’ Cozart gives in, ‘’But only because I’m pretty sure you’re already in front of my apartment and you’d wait on my doorstep until I came out otherwise.’’

Giotto pouts, but steps over the threshold anyway when Cozart opens the door. 

* * *

‘’Are you telling me Bermuda hasn’t been seen for the last few days, that none of the security cameras at his house show even an inkling of his presence, _and_ the signal of his phone led to a car way outside the city and we _don’t have a lead now?’’_

‘’You think I like this any better than you do?’’ Cozart sighs.

The hour is late, Ricardo’s gone for the weekend, and Cozart and Giotto are trying to wrap their head around the last week. 

Giotto bows himself over the kitchen table. ‘’We were supposed to beat him up for hurting my little brother! Not discover he’s actually missing! How am I going to tell Ricardo this, Cozart?!’’ 

‘’Tell Ricardo _what,_ Giotto?’’ In the door opening, Ricardo stands. Ricardo, who Giotto was _sure_ was spending the weekend on a retreat with his old university volleyball team. 

Giotto flounders. What is he even supposed to _say?_

Cozart, ever the angel, rescues him in his time of need. With a solemn face, he stands. ‘’Bermuda’s missing, Rica. And from the way it’s looking, I don’t think he’s coming back for a while.’’ 

It hits Ricardo like a truck. Giotto sees it happening- Rica’s expression crumbling before his face smoothes over into an unreadable whole. It hurts, seeing that. Seeing him hiding his feelings once again. 

Ricardo says nothing, turns around, and leaves. He slams the door so hard it reverberates in Giotto’s ears. 

Cozart sighs. ‘’That went well.’’ 

And Giotto, heart smarting for his little brother, grabs Cozart by the collar and says: ‘’We gotta find him for real now, you realize. We can’t let Ricardo _keep_ being sad.’’ 

‘’So _now_ you regain your voice?’’ 

Giotto pouts. Cozart is weak to that. 

‘’Okay, fine! But we’re never telling either of them it was us, okay? I’d like to have some dignity left.’’ 

‘’Deal!’’

* * *

Ricardo is falling apart in Bermuda’s absence. It’s been two weeks and there are no signs he’s coming back, and Giotto’s little brother is _grieving for a man still alive._

This is unacceptable. 

So is the place the trail Cozart finally managed to pick up on leads to. It’s pointing towards the old church in the slums he came from. Something nefarious is going on in its basement, and it is here that Bermuda seemingly has disappeared to. 

Giotto shivers. He thinks of the streets late at night, the draft in one-room houses that can barely be called that. Of living in the district of the city that had no light, gas or water, but did have a church. The deeper down in the dark you are, the more light matters. The desperate always found something to cling to. 

He thinks of his promise to his mother, to go to church each Sunday. He thinks of protecting his brother. He thinks of what must be going on beneath this church- this church that his mother took him to even when there was no food on the table and she was so weak he had to support her on the way. 

He knows what kind of people operate like this. Who take the forgotten places, the forgotten people, and do unmentionable things to them. Take their bodies and take their souls to break like they are the devil himself, fallen down from the heavens just to torture them. 

He thinks he might know who’s behind this. 

Giotto shivers, and he prays to God he’s wrong. 

* * *

He’s not. 

Many know Giotto’s story: from rags to riches. What very little people know is the motivation behind it. Being hungry is a reason to want to be rich. Seeing your mother murdered in the streets and nobody caring is a reason to want to change society. 

Giotto saw his mother dead. Giotto saw nobody care. Giotto saw nobody had _time or energy_ to care because the slums were so bad that just trying not to end up a body on the street themselves was hard enough. You can’t blame others for not caring if they have no choice. 

Sepira Vongola taught her son many a thing, but the most important is this one: a good Catholic boy goes to church and carries the thought of kindness everywhere he can. Even when she had little, what little she had she shared. 

There was a time when he forgot that message. After her death, he went into a frenzy trying to get his older sister Luce, her daughter Aria and his small cousin Ricardo into a better environment. That wasn’t strange- you cannot care for others if you cannot care for yourself. 

He was fourteen and he started an empire right there on the streets. Together with G, quickly joined by Cozart and several other upstarts, they expanded until their work ended up including the more high-class youth in town. God knows that Daemon would not have been allowed to interact with them by his parents if they’d known in the early days. 

They’d managed. They’d managed, and it was all supposed to be more and more and more- until Luce died, and Aria looked her uncle in the eye and said: ‘’I think mama knew too much.’’ 

Luce, who was a police officer. Luce, who had the resources to look into their mother’s murder. Luce, his senior by ten years, who’d been his rock when he was threatening to be dragged into the sea. 

There Giotto was. He had an empire. A company with more than a thousand people employed. He had money to swim in, his brother and niece could have everything they wanted except what mattered. It didn’t bring his mother back. It didn’t bring back Luce. 

Giotto had wanted to look into both their murders. He’d wanted to squander his fortune on finding the fucker who had done this to his family and _kill him._ Giotto had taken a deep breath, and decidedly _not_ done that. 

What he did was gather the remains of his family, install the best security money could buy, and start a charity. Many charities. All the charities needed to better places like the slums he came from. Charities and a superhero team. 

He doesn’t know who killed his mother. He doesn’t know who killed Luce. But he does know that that kind of violence ran rampant in places where nobody could afford to care. He couldn’t go back in time and prevent it happening to his family, but he could change the future for many others. 

Being back here, in the slums, makes him sick. Especially considering where they’re going. Cozart squeezes his hand in comfort. Giotto squeezes back. Many of the buildings are different now. No shacks anymore, but proper houses. Still not very fancy, mind you, but actual stone where before there was wood. 

The church has always been of stone. Giotto swallows hard around the lump in his throat. They’re not in their superhero suits. This is the kind of mission that needs a gentler touch. 

‘’We’ll take the window in the back,’’ he says, careful not to let his voice carry. ‘’It’s big enough to let a fully grown man through, though it’ll be a squeeze. The lock was faulty when I was kid, but nothing ever got stolen simply because there was nothing to steal. They’ve probably changed the lock by now, but we can break that no problem.’’ 

‘’Breaking and entering, eh. This is what heroism has led us to.’’ Cozart jokes in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Giotto appreciates it. All he wants to do is count the freckles on Cozart’s nose and connect them with a pen-like they’re constellations. Instead they're here, to find out if the church he loved so much as a child is holding Bermuda prisoner in its basement. 

‘’Think the reverend has got something to do with it?’’ Cozart asks after a moment of consideration. 

Giotto shivers and squeezes Cozart’s hand harder. ‘’Please don’t say that.’’ 

Reverend Kawahira, with his foreign name but familiar features. Reverend Kawahira, who was his mother’s friend. Reverend Kawahira, who always was so serene, and yet… Sometimes, Giotto didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. Too cold, too calculating, for a man preaching love and kindness in a harsh place like the slums. 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, takes a deep breath, and approaches the church window. It’s the same old rusted iron lock. It’s still broken. It’s like the entire neighbourhood has moved on, but the church is frozen in the past. In a worse time. The time his mother died. 

Not even locking the door might be the greatest disguise Giotto has ever seen for the liar of a villain. After all, if nobody bothers to lock it up, then there truly must be nothing to protect, right? 

Cozart urges him on. Giotto slides the window up and winces when it squeaks. For a single moment, he doesn’t dare to breathe. Nobody comes. He sneaks in through the window and helps Cozart in after him. 

As if his mood has not been strange enough today, this is suddenly becoming just a little bit fun. The theme of the pink panther plays in his head, and Giotto feels like a spy, as he played at being as a child. This is not the first time he has snuck through this church. He knows it inside out. He knows where to watch for people, and when to listen for footsteps. Nobody comes. 

That isn’t strange. It’s late in the evening, why would there be anybody in this old church? Except that this church is not at all what it seems. The music in his head comes to an abrupt stop when he pries up the floorboard and comes face to face with the old musty stone stairwell leading downwards into the darkness. 

Except there is no darkness, but harsh, white light. The kind you see in hospitals. The kind you see on operation tables. This certainly wasn’t here when he was a child. 

The first room they come upon has files. Giotto doesn’t dare linger- finding the kidnapped people is the priority. 

The light is even brighter in the second room. Giotto has to blink against it before it becomes clear what is in front of him. He stumbles backwards into Cozart’s chest. 

‘’What-‘’ Cozart stops. ‘’My _god_ what have they done to these people.’’ 

Giotto wants to throw up. His flames curl underneath his skin. These people… They’re in pods. They’re in pods, all shrivelled up, and Giotto can _feel_ the void of their presence. Somehow, whatever these pods are supposed to be, are sucking out their inhabitant’s powers and with it, draining their lives. The one closest to the door is the only one whose life still flickers faintly, like a flame about to go out. 

It’s Bermuda. 

Thank god at least Cozart is somewhat keeping his head. He opens up the pod with gloved hands- no fingerprints will be left. Giotto catches Bermuda as he falls out, and Cozart breaks the pod from the inside, making it seem like Bermuda broke out himself. 

They make a break for it. Giotto’s heart is pounding in his ears. 

* * *

The thing about superheroes is this: it is very easy to forget that there are heroes less flashy than them. The police, family, teachers… All these kinds of heroes are harder to notice when your definition of ‘’hero’’ has taken on such a clear image. It is even easier to forget the heroes that wish to be forgotten. 

One of these is Giotto’s very own niece. Aria Vongola: world-class spy. They visit her after delivering Bermuda to Jaeger and swearing him to silence. Neither Bermuda nor Ricardo will ever hear of this mission. As far as they know, Bermuda broke out on his own half-mad with survival instincts. 

The situation with the church, though, requires far more caution.

“Keep an eye on it for me, please,” Giotto says.

“Will do,” Aria answers, when all Giotto wants is to keep his little niece safe- safe, unlike her grandmother Sepira and her mother Luce- who both died at the hands of this man already. The reverend. Who else could it be? 

Still, there is no person more qualified for this mission, and he won't insult Aria by trying to keep her out of it. 

A few years later, she comes to him with an invitation and an entourage of others in the same situation, but that’s another story entirely. 

* * *

It’s morning, and Bermuda was delivered at Jaegar’s doorstep bright and early. Giotto’s probably drunk on adrenaline and can’t sleep, no matter how much he tosses and turns on Cozart’s couch. For the fourth time that day, he stands up to get a glass of water. 

‘’Quit it,’’ Cozart calls from the bedroom, ‘’I can’t sleep like this either. Get in here, you tosser.’’

Giotto’s cheeks are getting warmer, but he does as he’s told. This isn’t weird. They slept in the same bed all the time when they were smaller. Years and years ago, mind you. Back when the breadth of Cozart’s shoulder and the softness of his smile wasn’t causing Giotto trouble with breathing. Back when Giotto didn’t have a raging crush on Cozart yet. 

‘’Remember,’’ Cozart says once Giotto’s settled into the bed and they’re so close they’re breathing the same air, ‘’When our vigilante alter ego’s declared our alliance for the world to see and Bermuda ran with it to make it a wedding announcement?’’ 

‘’Are you trying to make me regret rescuing him?’’ Giotto asks, still incensed by that incident. ‘’I had my mind made up to beat his ass at the beginning of this whole debacle, you know. Then I had to confront the possibility that I might have to save it instead. The things I do for Ricardo!’’

Cozart laughs. ‘’No, not trying to make you regret it. I just thought I’d quit being a coward and just ask you to date me.’’ 

Giotto’s breath catches in his chest and he starts coughing, choking on air. ‘’ _What_ did you just say?’’ 

‘’Date me.’’ 

Giotto’s pretty sure his face is redder than Cozart’s lovely hair as he squeaks: ‘’Oh, then I didn’t hear it wrong.’’ 

Cozart reaches for his face and cups his cheek. ‘’So is that a yay or a nay?’’ 

Giotto thinks of mornings spend cooking breakfast for his family. He thinks of red hair, broad shoulders, and a smile larger than life. He thinks of late nights doing superhero work with this man’s voice in his ear as he directs him around the city. He thinks about collapsing against him when he finally gets home. He thinks about counting all his freckles, losing count and having to start all over again. Forever. 

There are more moments that Giotto wants to share with Cozart than stars in the sky, so there is only one answer possible. 

‘’Yes.’’ 

Cozart’s mouth brushes his in a motion softer than the brush of the wings of a butterfly, and Giotto can’t help but smile into it. 

‘’We’re never telling Bermuda he had something to do with us getting together, though.’’ 

Cozart grins. ‘’Never ever!’’ 


End file.
